


Violets and Roses, Bloom and Stem

by boxxed



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, F/F, Minor Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, concept: yaz rose and 13 in the tardis and it's all v sapphic, if I were less lazy bill would also be here judging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27237115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxxed/pseuds/boxxed
Summary: Rose and Yaz learn to know each other.
Relationships: Rose Tyler/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Violets and Roses, Bloom and Stem

**Author's Note:**

> the fact that I could find precisely zero rose/yaz fics suggests that there is little to no desire for them. good thing I only write to entertain myself.

Yaz and Rose didn't get on. Actually, no, that wasn't strictly true; they got on just fine, but they certainly weren't friends. They were, Yaz thought, somewhat friendly acquaintances which, when you spent most of the day almost every day with someone, was basically straight up antagonism. At the very least, it felt like it was antagonism, but not in any way that afforded the familiarity to ask outright. Travelling with Rose was like saying goodbye to friend of a friend you'd just met at a group gathering and never planned on seeing again, only to find you're headed in the same direction for half a mile and now you have to awkwardly decide whether or not to ignore each other for the next ten minutes. They wouldn't, of course; Rose would crack a joke, they'd both laugh and then proceed to make perfectly pleasant small talk. But they still wouldn't see each other again. They just wouldn't. It was fine. 

No, that wasn’t true either; it bothered Yaz endlessly.

Problem was, the Doctor and Rose were a… thing, as far as she could tell. They were close in a way that was hard to intrude on, sly gestures and inside jokes, so when Yaz had rocked up and hopped onto the TARDIS, effectively inviting herself along for the ride, she found herself fulfilling the surprise role of the unwilling but determinedly present third wheel. She suspected Rose resented her for it, even if she never said as much.

Not so much with the Doctor. They'd struck a friendship easily, natural as a summer breeze. But winds came and went, fleeting whispers that weren’t always there when you needed them most, and Yaz often found it hard to reconcile with the Doctor's intermittent propensity to being unknowable. Rose was anything but. She wore her heart and brain and liver on her sleeve and Yaz thought she might know more about her than she ever would of the Doctor. But there was also unyielding, sky-high wall between them. It was transparent so Yaz could, and did, watch her through it like an exotic animal at a zoo, but it was also bulletproof and all Yaz had was her work-issued baton. Beat though she might, Rose never seemed to hear.

"I don't get it," said Rose one day, waving a chip in Yaz's direction before shoving it in her mouth, "why a copper, of all things?"

They sat opposite each other, abandoned in a café in some Dorset coastal town. The sort of establishment that hadn't updated their decor since the mid-nineties and only served their coffee black. Most of the food options involved sausages and the uncomfortable, green plastic chairs were bolted to the floor, but the walls were lined with pleasant watercolours of local landscapes. 

Yaz watched as a man passed by the window, struggling with both the hood of his raincoat against the wind and his over-eager dog, tail wagging furiously as it revelled in the storm. "What's not to get?" She asked. The dog and its owner disappeared from view, and she turned her attention back to Rose who was watching her with seeming interest. 

"You just don't strike me as the type," she said, picking her flip phone, (she hadn’t quite gotten used to the smartphone Yaz insisted on her getting yet, even so her Instagram was doing astonishingly well), off the table and putting it back down. She’d been talking on it the first time Yaz saw her so she assumed she was a dealer and had almost gone to question her when the Doctor had shown up and they'd run off. 

Yaz had suspected she wouldn't appreciate what "the type" was, so she didn't ask. She knew Rose didn't think much of her profession, she came from the kind of dynasty that didn't have much trust in authority in general and even less so of the police. When Yaz had first told her what she did for a living, Rose had just said "oh" and dropped the subject. Not in a pointed way, mind, just like any further discussion on the topic wouldn't have been of interest to her. For all her convictions, she would at least wait for you to prove that you’re scum before saying as much to your face. And in any case, Yaz didn't feel especially compelled to defend herself; she had her reasons and she certainly didn’t need approval. She did however, like a incessant puppy want Rose to like her, so she spilled her soul over the table like a knocked mug of tea.

She told her everything about the last few years of her life before they'd met. About the grey days that led to black days that led to running and hiding and being found again by someone that somehow convinced her that they wouldn't last forever. About how as time went, she had felt so completely sure that that one encounter had saved her life and how she wanted nothing more in the world than to be that person for someone else. About how she chased that dream the only way she knew how: by following in her footsteps.

Rose had sat still, arms crossed over her chest and listened sympathetically, giving her a sad smile when she talked about her hardships. Yaz remembered thinking Rose must find her pathetically thin-skinned when she lamented about girls who had been mean to her at school and realising that the notion was ridiculous, because Rose seemed to understand better than most that a hierarchy of pain was unconstructive. Once Yaz had finished, Rose waited a drawn out moment to make sure she had nothing else left to say. 

"I'm sorry," was the first thing she said. She didn't have to say it the way she did for Yaz to know she meant it; her steadfast ability to care was the one thing Yaz most admired about her. Then she leant back, the green, plastic chair squeaking against the bolts, and chewed at her bottom lip. After a moment, she resolved and said carefully, "you're entitled to take this the wrong way, but it seems to me that you joined up because you wanted to be a social worker."

Yaz had blinked at her, opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. Not being able to think of anything else, she said "no" before cutting herself off, crossing her arms on the table and frowning down at her too milky tea that was no longer warm enough willingly drink. 

Suddenly, Yaz thought about the countless hours she had spent plastering parking tickets to windscreens or the numerous times she had forced inebriated teenagers out of public parks, wondering who exactly was benefitting from her actions. Then she thought about dear Mrs Kireem who was eighty-seven and phoned emergency services at least four times a week because she was worried someone was in the house. Of course, there never was and the other officers would complain in frustration about the wasted resources and the people they could be helping instead, as if giving a lonely, old woman some desperately needed company for a couple of hours wasn't actually helping. Yaz loved those hours when she got them. It felt like being a part of something bigger than herself, part of a community that she'd never truly experienced before, holed up in her bedroom. "I'd never really thought about it like that," she said eventually, although a petulant part of her, the part that wanted but refused to defend her life choices, desperately wanted to argue. 

Rose shrugged, non-judgementally. "Well, you have now," she said and went back to picking at her food. 

"What about you?" Asked Yaz, mostly because she felt she was owed in an abstract sense, payment for how much of herself she'd given away, "how do want to spend your life?"

Rose stared out of the window, chin in her hand, across the road to where they could see the sea crashing before the worst of the incoming storm finally hit. Later, they would run as fast as their legs could possibly carry them, but they'd still arrive back at the TARDIS half drowned and shivering. She looked back at Yaz and grinned. "I just want to be free."

Sat in that café was the closest to honesty that they'd ever got until that point. Not the casual exchange of simple truths, but the baring of the soul that paved the way for genuine intimacy. The start of the dissolution of that wall; it was slow, sure, but it was a start. It did Yaz good, anyway. Suddenly, she wasn't just the third party hanging on well after everyone else had gone home, she was part of the team, truly. A family, of sorts, finally solidified when Rose had laughed at one of her jokes over lunch. 

Yaz still wasn't privy to whatever was between the her and the Doctor, though. She watched as they skirted around each other like dancing moths, never quite connecting. From time to time Yaz would walk into a room to find them huddled together having some quiet discussion. If they didn't notice her -and when they were like that, they usually didn't- she would stick around for a while anyway, like she might gain secret insight into their Soon, she realised that if there was something more going on, she wasn't going to learn about it without asking. 

She could have gone straight to the Doctor, but getting personal information out of her was like wading through quicksand: slow, painful and endlessly frustrating. More importantly, it wasn't something one did without just cause. Trying to ascertain if her friends were secretly into each other was not that. So, naturally, she went to Rose instead. 

While their rapport had definitely improved, Yaz still didn't quite feel comfortable approaching her with matters beyond the practical; a sentiment that wasn't remotely reciprocated. Rose had about as much filter as a split teabag and Yaz often found herself half appalled by the things that came out. She didn't usually think she was uptight, but Rose had uncanny knack at triggering that side of her when she rambled on about her various exploits. 

It was late. Yaz was in her pyjamas and a pale blue dressing gown that she'd stolen from her sister. Her feet were bare and the grated metal flooring of the TARDIS was cold to the touch. The Doctor had disappeared; something she often did when she assumed the other two were asleep. 

Yaz stood outside of Rose's bedroom door, debating if she should just go back to bed instead. She was probably asleep, anyway, and even if she wasn't, she wouldn't want someone, least of all Yaz, showing up in the early hours for a girly chat. Yaz wasn't entirely sure why she cared, or even that she particularly did, but still she knocked the door with the back of her palm anyway, soft enough to hear but not to wake. 

She heard movement on the other side, shuffling then the bang of something being dropped or tripped over, immediately followed up with Rose swearing loudly. When she swung the door open, her expression turned from mildly annoyed to extremely confused in a matter of milliseconds. 

"Hi?" She said, putting a hand on her hip. Her bedtime getup consisted of a white t-shirt, a pair of jogging bottoms and her hair tied at the top of her head in a messy bun. Yaz tried not to notice that she visibly wasn't wearing a bra. Instead, she trained her eyes in her face. Rose had a tendency to wear too much blush and seemed oddly bare without it; younger, somehow. That said, she wasn't entirely sure how old Rose was, only that she was born some point in the eighties; in Yaz’s time, she might not be much older than her mum.

"I can leave," said Yaz, suddenly feeling like an intruder. 

"You could," Rose agreed, "but, like, you can also come in if you wanted something." When Yaz didn't move, she tilted her head and said, "or you could just stand there."

Yaz blinked, realising she must look like a complete dolt. "No, I'm coming in."

Rose stepped to the side to allow her to shuffle past. She'd never actually been in her room before and was almost startled by how homey it was. Yaz's space was utilitarian in comparison, caused by a distinct anxiety that to make herself more at home would be taking liberties, but Rose apparently had no such qualms. She had decorated with pink fairy lights and faux fur throws, photos of friends and family, a few of which Yaz recognised but many more she didn't. It was also a mess: a dressing table piled with products, clothes laid out on almost every surface and those faux fur throws were bundled on one side of her bed. 

"Don't judge," said Rose, shrugging. She threw herself onto the unmade bed. Beside where she landed lay open facedown a collection of Daphne Du Maurier short stories, and Yaz silently berated herself at being surprised that Rose read anything other than magazines. Rose picked it up, dog-eared her page and tossed it onto her bedside table, then patted the newly cleared space next to her. "Tell me all about it."

"Sorry, what?" Asked Yaz.   
  
“Tell me what's up," said Rose, patiently.

“Oh, I just couldn't sleep."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Obviously. But it's 3am and you're here, of all places, so I'm gonna assume there's a little more to it than that."

Yaz sat down awkwardly, pulling around her dressing gown a little tighter. “I wanted to ask," she said after a moment to consider her phrasing, but not long enough to bottle it, "are you and the Doctor sleeping together?"

Rose raised both of her eyebrows so high they might have disappeared into her hairline, and when she realised that Yaz was being perfectly serious she barked out a laugh. "Jesus Christ, where'd you get _that_ idea?"

Yaz wondered how Rose could not realise what an easy conclusion it was to make. "It just seemed like you might be," she said.

"Well… we're not," said Rose, then she quickly looked away, fixing her eyes on the cover of her book and straightening out the shoulders of her t-shirt and smoothing down the front. 

"But you wouldn't say ‘no’," Yaz deduced.

She laughed again, softer this time. "Am I that transparent?"

"You both are, honestly."

Rose shook her head. "It's really not like that."

“Then, I don't get it."

"I mean that it doesn't matter, at the end of the day, because nothing's gonna come of it. And, you know, that's fine." When Yaz said nothing, waiting, she elaborated with a sigh. "The Doctor's super old, right, and in the grand scheme of things… you and me, we're here for, like, a moment. She has this whole big picture of the universe and it's the most important thing, not matter what else is going on, but she cares enough that she wouldn't have me playing second fiddle to the universe. So even if she wants something more than what we have, she'll never push it. And I don't want her compromising what she believes is important, so I'll never push it. And round and round we go. But like I said, it's fine. She's my best friend and that's all I need."

Yaz watched her for a moment. "I didn't realise," she said.

Rose raised a single eyebrow in way of a question.

"That you're in love with her."

There was a long, silent beat where Yaz was sure she was going to deny it, but then Rose smiled. "Don't worry,” she said in almost a whisper, “it doesn't hurt."

Yaz couldn't help but look at Rose a little differently after that first late night confessional. She became increasingly concerned that she might be unhappy, that any day now she would be befallen to despair as Yaz had once been. She searched for the signs, they suffered from the same bouts of insomnia from time to time but that by itself didn't mean much. She looked for poor eating habits or an over eagerness to her wide smile. Sometimes she listened in on the calls she made to her mum, thinking that if she were going to pour her heart out to anyone, it would be her. But after a couple of minutes of normal, cheery conversation, she would feel bad for eavesdropping and leave her to her business. All in all, she seemed at least mostly content, and it gnawed at her. Yaz had seen movies and read books, Rose wasn't meant to just be okay with her situation, she wasn't meant to just be getting on with her life. 

Sometimes Yaz would show up at her door at strange hours as if she could simply catch her with her guard down if she was unexpected enough. When that didn't work and Yaz accepted that she was never going to satisfy her own superstitions, she kept showing up anyway. There was a comfort in Rose all bleary eyed and messy hair and skewwhiff pyjamas. Yaz got a strange thrill of knowing that she was one of only a few people that would ever see her like this, half asleep and entirely uncaring in a way no one could manage in bright light of day. 

Sometimes they stayed up all night talking about nothing and others they said little at all, providing company while they read or listened to music, (Yaz had had a field day when she learned that Rose had never even _heard_ of One Direction). Sometimes Yaz would fall asleep there, still wearing her sisters dressing gown.

***

"What do you think?" Asked Rose as she sat down and all but shoved her phone screen in Yaz's face one late morning. On it was a photo of an unquestionably handsome man with chiselled cheekbones and pretty, brown eyes; he was smiling in a friendly manner. He was also shirtless and had a dragon tattooed on the left side of his chest. 

"Great?" Said Yaz, unsure what exactly it was she meant to be judging. "What's the context here?"

"Well, I found that Tinder thing you told me about. It’s awful, by the way, the future is hell; at least in my time a bloke will buy you a drink before exposing himself. But this one at least seems nice enough though not especially smart, which isn’t important because I only plan on using him for his body." She didn't sound overly enthusiastic at the prospect. Yaz shifted in her seat, trying to keep her face neutral, ignoring how warm her cheeks felt and the twisting knot in her stomach. 

"That's nice," she said. 

Rose tucked her phone away and turned to face fully face her. "Sorry," she said, sincerely, if a bit sheepish. 

"For what?"

"For making you uncomfortable. Just ignore me. I know you don't really-" and she cut herself off and waved a hand in a vague gesture, leaving Yaz wondering what it was that Rose thought she didn't do. So she asked. "Oh, you know, blokes. Not that I'm making assumptions, just that the whole deal doesn't seem like your bag."

Rose pulled her phone back out and began tapping it with her thumb, but her glazed expression made it clear she wasn't really looking at whatever was on the screen. Yaz strongly suspected that she was simply giving her the opportunity to opt out of the conversation. 

"It's not," said Yaz, eventually, "my bag, I mean. 'Though honestly, I can't say I think about it much."

"No?"

Yaz shook her head.

Rose said "fair enough" and smiled at her in a way that made her hold her breath for a few seconds. She let it go carefully and returned to her breakfast.

When Rose disappeared later that day, Yaz assumed that she had gone off to find the handsome, shirtless man. When she returned only twenty-six minutes later, she figured not. That was until she saw Rose's stormy expression.

"What happened?" She asked, concerned. She noticed the Doctor look up from the console then, saw the way she watched her like whatever she was about to say could be the most vital information in the universe. 

Rose groaned dramatically and rolled her eyes. "I hate having standards." She disappeared off through a side door as if for effect and Yaz watched her go, a tight knot she hadn't before noticed unravelling slightly. 

Unsure what else to do, she went to bed; although as it often did, sleep eluded her.

A few nights later, Yaz lay awake in a different a bed: Rose's, taking up more than her fair share of the space. Rose sat at her side, legs tucked up against her chest and her chin on her knees, staring off into the middle distance. 

"You alright?" Asked Yaz.

"Mmm. Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

Rose didn't smile like Yaz expected her to, so she sat up to more effectively provide her attention. "I forgot to phone home; it's the anniversary of my dad dying and I- well, I forgot, didn't I?"

"It's been a long couple of days." They'd ended up in the distant future on a planet at the brink of some kind of civil war. Yaz had barely been able to keep track of what was going on, but had managed to break up a few fights in the council chamber while Rose had played foreign diplomat and the Doctor fed her the relevant she thought she might need. Between them, they'd managed to leave the situation slightly more stable than it had been when they'd arrived, but they all agreed that they didn't want to find out if the effect had lasted or if they'd just made everything worse. Sometimes, the Doctor had said, things are simply too broken to fix. 

"Not the point, though, is it?” said Rose, more distressed than Yaz had ever heard her, “like, I know mum'll be alright, she's strong and everything, always has been, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't at least try to be there for her. Because I know it's still hard after all these years, that she gets sad and, you know, it's like we've always been this team, had each other but I'm just now tapping out because I’m too busy listening to aliens bitch about each other or some shit. And I know I'm going to keep letting her down when she needs me and I will, I know I will, but- oh, I don't know, I just feel bad about it, I guess." She pressed her forehead against her knees and for a panicked moment, Yaz wondered what she'd actually do if she started crying. Then she remembered all the times she’d dealt with criers at work and that she was actually pretty competent at it; Rose being someone she knew and cared about shouldn’t make the difference. If anything, it should be easier.

"The important thing is that you care," said Yaz softly, reaching to rest her fingertips against the back of Rose's hand, "and you do, anyone can see that, especially your mum. Going off and having your own life for once isn't tapping out, it's just living, and you deserve to have that as much as anyone. I can't imagine for a second that she would disagree with me. Don't worry. Call her in the morning, she'll understand and it'll make you feel better when you've got proof that no one's mad at you."

Rose didn't look up but she lifted her head enough to nod and sniffed. "You're alright at this, you know," she said, her voice muffled, "this whole comforting business." She twisted her hand to entwine her fingers with Yaz's and then let them drop onto the bed with a soft thud. She looked up properly then, her eyes were shining but she looked a tad brighter, a little less sad. 

She then leant forward, too quick for Yaz to react and kissed her once gently on the mouth, pulling away before her heart had had the chance to catch up. The fact that Yaz had seen her make the same gesture to half a dozen other people in the time she'd known her didn't stop it from hammering so hard that her lungs could barely function. 

"Anyway, thanks," said Rose, not noticing what she'd done, before crawling to the other side of the bed and clambering under the duvet. "Can you turn the light off?"

Yaz realised that if she was going to leave, it would have had to be then. Rose hadn't asked her to, but then neither had she asked her to stay. It wasn't the sort of thing one could just assume, though, and for a torn second or two, Yaz found herself rooted still by the dilemma. It wasn’t like it was so late that returning to her own room was too much of an effort in her sleepiness, as it had been the other times she stayed. Then she thought that, like Rose, sometimes she just needed to live, and do the things that made her happy, so she got in the bed and turned off the light. 

***

It was September when Yaz finally returned to work three months after leaving. It took another ten minutes to find her superior to hand in her two weeks’ notice. He said little, but made no effort to hide on his face that he thought she was out of line. She had after all been shown unprecedented accommodation in regards to her time off, something she was already resented for by her co-workers, a fact she knew despite the valiant efforts made to hide it. 

She bore his grudging for as long as she was physically required and didn't apologize when she left him, even though his blatant disappointment made her feel compelled to. Despite her attempts to hide her departure, word soon got out. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought she had committed high treason rather than simply quitting her job. People she had once been friendly with would all but ignore her unless she addressed them directly, although a couple of others seemed genuinely disappointed to see her go.

The heavy weight of her days slipped off when she walked through the front door of her parents’ flat. Her sister in particular knew how to comfort her without being stifling, welcoming her back into the fold like she'd never left. Though, as much as she loved being with them, the flat didn't feel so much like home anymore. Even as she paced around her childhood bedroom, a space she knew more intimately than any other, she got the sinking feeling she didn't belong there. Just another thing she was moving on from, she supposed. 

She got into her single bed, with its squeaky frame and it tasselled cushions, and felt suddenly cold and alone no matter how tightly she pulled around the covers. For a long time, she lay awake, her eyes transfixed on a patch of wall where a leak had caused the paint to warp and chip but not enough that Yaz ever cared to repaint it, even long after the pipe had been fixed. Instead, as the years went by, the patch of bare plaster grew where she'd picked at the edges as some sort of distraction, not one of her more productive habits. 

When the Doctor and Rose finally came to pick her up again a few days after she'd finally packed in her job, she was practically waiting by the door with her things packed by her side. She tried not to roll her eyes as her mother pulled into another hug and wondered if she would ever really come back. 

***

"You know don't have to knock, right," said Rose when she opened her bedroom door. She was still up and dressed in her days clothes despite the late hour and it looked like she had recently brushed her bright hair to a shine.

Yaz shrugged one shoulder. "Just this time I do," she said, though she didn't wait to be invited in. She crossed to the bed and dumped the cardboard box she had tucked under her arm onto it, followed by herself, pulling up her legs to sit with them crossed. She tapped on the box like a drumroll and Rose snorted, shaking her head.

"Let's see it then," she said, sat herself opposite and began picking at the unnecessarily fiddly tab.

"I missed you," said Yaz, quietly as she watched her, tugging at her sleeves with a nervousness that she was sure was unwarranted. It was the first time they'd been alone together in weeks. "A lot, actually."

Rose paused to look up. "Won't lie," she said, "things aren't the same without you around."

"For the better, you mean?"

Rose roll her eyes and with exaggerated exasperation she said, "I missed you, too, Yaz." She turned her attention back to struggling with the box once more and when she finally opened it, she scratched her head then laughed softly as pulled out the books from inside. 

"I'm retraining," said Yaz, even though it should have been obvious. "Social care, like you said. I thought about it and you were right; it is what I want to do, I just sort of never considered it from that angle before."

"And here I was thinking that quitting your job was because you were having a midlife crisis at the grand old age of twenty-three. This is a relief,” she said, laughing. “And it’s nice to hear that you do actually listen to what I say."

"I always listen to what you say," said Yaz like it were a confession. Perhaps it was. 

Rose gave her a soft smile and leaned in to place a fleeting kiss to her cheek. "Good for you," she said as she pulled back, leaving behind a searing patch of skin that Yaz desperately wanted to touch. She didn't go far, her face hovering a foot away, just far enough so her features didn’t blur. 

She opened her mouth to say something but before she could, Yaz lost all and any sense, reclosing the gap and kissing her on the lips. Rose didn't move, not her body to escape, nor her head to embrace, and when Yaz released her, her lips were still parted and her eyes were slightly wider than usual. 

Yaz panicked. "Oh, shoot. Sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have." She scrambled off the bed to leave, tripping over her dressing gown tie, barely rescuing herself from falling flat to the floor.

"Hold on-"

"No, I'm sorry,” she said, tying the tie with trembling hands so she couldn’t further embarrass herself. Her eyes were hot but the last thing she wanted to do was cry. What she wanted was to leave, and quick. “I know you're not- that you don't- and with the Doctor-"

"Yaz."

"I'm gonna go, I'll just-"

" _Yaz_." Rose pulled on her arm, yanking her to a stop. Yaz hadn’t heard her get up and follow her across the room. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Yaz didn't try to free herself but she also didn't look back. With burning cheeks and ragged breath, she hated to think how she must look. She tried to steady herself so at the very least she could go and pick up the books she suddenly realised she'd forgotten. 

"I told you, didn't I? There's not going to be anything between me and her."

Yaz closed her eyes for a moment, the opened them again with resignation. "That's not the point though, is it?" She said. 

"Then, what is? Look, I don’t expect you to understand; shit, I barely understand, but I have no intention of putting my life on hold because of some feelings that will never amount to anything. It’s not like suddenly everything else is just shut off, I’m not otherwise dead inside.” She tugged her arm. “Yaz, will you look at me? Please?" Yaz looked, her clenched jaw slacking somewhat when she saw the look on Rose’s face. Yaz didn’t think she'd ever seen her look so distraught. Rose slipped her hold from her forearm to her hand and pulled her a little closer. "Don't be sorry. I really don’t want you to be sorry."

“Are you?”

“No. Not at all.”

Yaz took a deep breath, wondering what that meant. But in the end, she decided for the moment that it didn't matter; that they both had time to figure things out. Heart in her throat, she said, "okay," letting it soar when Rose smiled. 


End file.
